


Of Sauces and Sweatshirts

by helsinkibaby



Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Glorious Denial of Canon, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike comes home to find Debra cooking...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Sauces and Sweatshirts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a misread prompt at effyeahcharacterdevelopment over at tumblr (and I can't type the f-word outside of a fanfic, who knew?)

When Mike opens the front door of his apartment, he calls out, "It's me," before he's even finished taking the key out of the keyhole. He's taking his jacket off and hanging it up when a shout comes from the kitchen, letting him know that that's where she is. 

Smiling as the knowledge and the aroma hit him at the same time, he makes his way there, stopping and smiling when he sees her. 

Debra stands at the stove, stirring the contents of a saucepan with a frown of concentration on her face. It's still a novel thing for him to find her like this, to find out that not only can she cook, but  in fact is damn good at it. She'd learned as a kid, she'd told him at first, and as the months had gone by and the nightmares had eased and their relationship deepened, she'd told him everything, including that cooking was one of the few good memories she had from that time. 

But that's not what makes him smile. Her outfit does that - a pair of fluffy slippers on her feet ( a gag gift from him at Christmas designed to make her laugh), plain black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that's seen better days. He knows that, because the faded grey material has an even more faded navy Wesleyan logo across the chest, and the only reason it hadn't been thrown out when he was making room for her in his - their - bedroom was because she'd grabbed it from him and put it on right then and there. 

Turns out she likes the shirt, likes having something that smells like him to curl up in when he's away on a case. She's still out on disability, a nice way of describing what happened to her, and she's not in any hurry back. The Bureau aren't pressuring her either, which is perhaps good for her sanity if not so good for her continued career prospects, but that doesn't seem to bother her and Mike's not going to let it bother him either. Not when he sees her becoming more and more comfortable with herself every day. 

"Something smells amazing," he says as he walks up behind her, slides his arms around her and nuzzles her neck. His fingers dance across the faded logo and she smiles as she leans back into him. 

"Marinara sauce," she says, confirming the evidence of his nose and eyes. She turns her face towards him, smiles at him and he kisses her until a hiss from the saucepan makes them break apart. Debra frowns, stirs quickly and tells him, "You have time for a shower if you want."

Mike grins, lets his hand slip under the soft cotton to the equally soft skin of her back. "Or I could shower after dinner," he murmurs, pressing his lips to the side of her neck. "With you."

From the bite of her smiling lip and the flush of her cheeks, he doesn't think he needed to add in the last two words. "That would be nice," is all she says and it's more than he would have got a year ago, even six months ago and he'll take it and be damn happy about it. 

Because here, in a kitchen filled with the scent of her cooking, her wearing his sweatshirt, he knows that coming home to her is all he wants to do for the rest of his life. 

And one day, soon, he'll tell her that. 


End file.
